


King Arthur and the Sultan of Persia

by heliolater



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance, Slavery, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliolater/pseuds/heliolater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur meets a Sultan, a slave boy translator named Merlin, and has feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In keeping with the world of Merlin, the Persia of this country bears no resemblance to any real country at any point in history. I just needed a country name and Persia seemed conveniently exotic. Basically, I had a silly idea and ran with it. 
> 
> This fic is part of my Fic Dump before Merlin ends all together. So many feels. I’m not entirely happy with this, but sometimes posting is better than agonizing indefinitely over something. I have the bulk of the story finished. I’m just going through and cleaning some stuff up and adding bits so it doesn’t feel as rushed to me. The rest should be up in a few days. Enjoy!

Arthur was not pleased. Persia was boiling hot, the air was dry, and the wind threw tiny pebbles and sand into their faces. Arthur longed for Camelot’s cool, damp temperatures. With a sigh, Arthur pushed his horse forward toward the city before them. It glittered invitingly in the distance, promising shade, water, and wealth. Arthur and his knights had traveled a long way to woo this Desert Sultan into trading goods with Camelot exclusively and he wasn’t going to turn back now.

The company arrived at the city gates in late afternoon, dusty, tired, and yearning for a meal. They were greeted by guards, lavishly dressed and bearing ornate golden spears. Arthur nodded warily in their direction and their captain inclined him head solemnly in return before signaling to some unseen servant to open the massive blue, tiled doors.  
Arthur, Leon, and Gwaine dismounted when they reached the courtyard. As soon as their feet hit the ground, two boys and a footman appeared out of nowhere. The boys took the reins of their horses and began to lead them toward the stables.

The footman gave them each a curt bow before saying, with a heavy accent, “Your highness, Sirs, follow me to see the Sultan, please.” The man trotted off and Arthur had to stride to keep up with him. Leon and Gwaine exchanged a wry glance with one another before starting off. He led them through labyrinthine passageways, turning right, then right, then right, without bringing them full circle. Eventually, the cramped hallways opened up into large airy rooms with vaulted ceilings and huge windows. Finally, the footman halted before a massive double door. It looked a bit like the one that opened into the Camelot throne room, but larger, grander, and much more ornate. The entire thing was carved with scenes of plants and animals. Arthur noted a surprisingly lifelike doe staring out at him from behind delicately carved wooden leaves. The footman coughed and Arthur jerked his eyes away from the carvings, flushing hotly. He felt rather like a country bumpkin who had been caught staring gobsmacked at the wonders of civilization, but the footman only nodded and gestured for him to push open the door.

The throne room was magnificent. Jewels studded the walls and ceilings, intricate designs covered every inch of the hall; the walls, the floor, the ceiling, nothing was left without ornamentation. At the end of the hall was a dais with a large golden chair and on it sat a lean, weather-worn man in silks and jewels. Despite the finery, he reminded Arthur of Uther, tested, unrelenting, and ruthless—a warrior king.

Arthur and his knights approached the throne. Arthur was painfully aware that they had not been allowed to straighten up after their long journey. For the second time that day, he felt more like a backwater lord quite out of his depth in a big city than the King of Camelot. As they drew closer, Arthur saw the Sultan looked tired behind his beard and jewelry and he breathed an internal sigh of relief. However this was to play out, they would meet each other man to man. The footman bowed to the Sultan, then to Arthur, and then settled himself at the Sultan’s feet.

The Sultan spoke in a deep, powerful voice, but the words meant nothing to Arthur. He looked in askance to the footman who turned to the Sultan, speaking quickly to him. The Sultan answered him curtly, hardly sparing him a glance. The footman turned back to Arthur and said slowly, “The Sultan will see you in more comfortable chambers.” After this pronouncement, the Sultan rose and disappeared behind the thick curtains that hung just behind his throne, motioning for Arthur to follow. Simultaneously, the footman slipped out of the room through another hidden side door.

Behind the curtain was a small meeting chamber with a long table that took up most of the room. The walls were equally adorned here, although the decorations and colors were slightly more subdued. The Sultan settled into the chair at the head and motioned for Arthur to sit in the chair at his right. Leon and Gwaine sat side by side to Arthur’s left. The footman had disappeared again so silence stretched between them. The silence was punctuated by several page boys moving in and out of the room, setting down plates, and bringing in fruit and wine. Arthur was just beginning to wonder when and how they would get down to their talks, when the footman appeared again in the back doorway at the other end of the room. He was followed by a slim, pale boy dressed only in wide-legged, nearly transparent trousers. The boy, upon closer inspection, was most not really a boy. He was most likely just a few years younger than Arthur. His dark hair was artfully mussed, curling around his slightly too large ears and falling into his eyes. Dark eyes that were lined with just a hint of kohl. His waist was encircled by a belt of coins and around his wrists and ankles were small rings of bells. They each clinked softly as he moved. Arthur felt his breath hitch when he saw him. This boy, despite his dress, did not belong here; his pale skin spoke of distant northern climes. The boy’s hips swayed tantalizingly, bells tinkling as he took up his place the Sultan’s left hand, blue eyes locked with Arthur’s.

The Sultan spoke suddenly in his strange lilting language and Arthur's eyes flickered away from the boy's to glance at him. At the same time, boy turned to the Sultan, watching him until he was finished speaking. After a moment, the boy spoke, his voice soft and slightly hoarse with disuse.

“This is Merlin,” he said, indicating to himself as the Sultan had, “my translator. Why have you come to my kingdom, King Arthur?” Arthur pulled his attention back to the Sultan who was smirking at him.

“I have come to request that you open the doors of trade to Camelot,” Arthur replied. Merlin relayed this to the Sultan.

After a moment, he answered, “And what would my country gain from this?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the end of the world. Arthur and Merlin get together.

The negotiations lasted about two days. Two days of back and forth between Arthur and the Sultan. Two days of nitpicking, arguing, and compromising. By the end Arthur was pleased and, he hoped, so was the Sultan. Throughout the discussions, Merlin steadfastly translated for the two kings, his soft voice mediating their conversation. After the first day, he did not appear in his scanty, transparent trousers. Instead, he was dressed in close-fitting brown trousers and a loose linen shirt. The only thing he retained from that first day was the bangles at his wrists and a tiny golden hoop in his ear lobe. This was only marginally less distracting for Arthur. The shirt showed off the soft dip where Merlin’s collarbones met, the trousers hugged his slim thighs, and gods Arthur even found Merlin’s stupid perfect profile attractive. 

From the change in clothing, Arthur got the impression that the Sultan wanted Merlin to fade into the background, but Arthur could not keep his eyes from straying back to his face at embarrassingly regular intervals. The truth was no ill-fitting linen shirt could fully disguise how utterly beautiful Merlin was. Fortunately, the Sultan didn’t seem to notice and if he did, he didn’t bother to acknowledge it. 

As the negotiations wrapped up and Arthur and the Sultan shook hands, the Sultan said through Merlin, “As a token of friendship, Arthur Pendragon, I would like you to taste from my garden.” Arthur glanced curiously at him and his eyes flicked back expectantly to Merlin who was getting slightly pink. “I see,” Merlin translated, “how you look at the boy. I do not keep him merely as a translator. He is quite a lovely concubine as well.” Merlin is definitely flushed now, but he continues speaking for the Sultan, “I will let you sample him for the night and if he agrees with you I will send him back with you to Albion.”

Arthur, shocked, nods dumbly which Merlin, voice shaking, relays to the Sultan. His grin is wide as he claps Arthur heartily on the shoulder and says something jovial. “You will enjoy him, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin says, sounding detached, “I did and I am not one for boys.” Arthur rises with the Sultan who continues talking, “I have not had him in over a year.” The Sultan has an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and moves him toward Merlin. He puts a hand under Merlin’s chin and turns his head from slowly from side to side, letting Arthur study his profile like he knew Arthur had been dreaming about that face every night since he’d arrived. 

“Something so beautiful should be appreciated, yes,” Merlin relays, but seemingly without understanding. 

“Yes,” Arthur says simply, his eyes trained on Merlin’s face. 

“Good,” the Sultan grunts in heavily accented Common and Arthur looks at him in mild shock, but the Sultan ignores him. Instead, he takes Merlin by the shoulder and draws him toward Arthur until they are standing nearly toe to toe. “Then take him now,” he says huskily. “Tahj,” he calls, abruptly turning away from them. Tahj the footman materialized at Arthur’s side equally suddenly and urged him and Merlin out of the council chamber, leading them back to his room. Even after four days in the palace, Arthur could not successfully navigate his way back to his rooms through the winding, twisty hallways. 

Leon and Gwaine made to follow them, but they had suddenly acquired their very own footman who led them off in the opposite direction. Leon looked mildly concerned that Arthur was being led off with some slave boy and lingered, looking in askance to his king. Gwaine, on the other hand, only winked and gave Arthur a filthy grin before trotting after his footman. Arthur nodded to Leon and he reluctantly shuffled on after Gwaine. 

“My lord,” Tahj prompted, looking impatient. 

“Lead on, my friend,” said Arthur with a sigh and Tahj gave him a disapproving look for the familiarity before setting off. Merlin, however, seemed to be stifling a smirk—a smirk that abruptly slid off his face when he caught Arthur staring and was quickly replaced with an unhappy frown. Arthur felt his heart sink a little. 

Arthur found himself in his rooms before he quite realized what was happening. The room was covered in carpets, lush fabrics, and pillows. He had been quite comfortable here the past few days and had even complimented the Sultan on the comfort and luxury of his guest rooms. The Sultan had laughed, thanked Arthur for the compliment, and offered to send some of the fine thick Persian carpets back to Camelot with them when they departed. 

The sound of someone scuffing their foot nervously on the carpet called Arthur’s mind back to the present. Merlin stood awkwardly by the closed door, arms wrapped around him as if he was cold in the sweltering heat. He was really lovely, Arthur thought, taking in the dark, curling hair, the blue-black eyes, and full pink lips. His eyes dipper lower, taking in the slim waist and the wiry strength of the man in front of him. 

Arthur coughed uncomfortably and said, “Ah, well—” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. 

“I’ll just get on with it then,” Merlin said tersely. He unfolding his arms from his body, crossed the rooms, began pushing off Arthur’s jacket, and made to start unlacing his shirt. Arthur gave a choked half-yelp as the jacket got caught on a button and grabbed Merlin’s hands to still them. 

“We don’t have to—you know—we could just,” he paused,c asting about for something they could do instead, “have dinner!”

Merlin’s mouth twisted and he said, “I’m here to sleep with you, my lord, not have tea.”

“Right,” Arthur stammered, stepping away from him. “Right, well, we—we could do both.” Merlin deflated a bit. 

“I suppose,” he said. 

“Alright, then,” Arthur replied as if that settled everything, even if it really really didn’t. He cracked open the door and called for the servant outside to bring them some supper. The girl returned several minutes later with several plates of food and a jug of wine. 

They ate quietly. When the plates were cleared away, they remained sitting across from one another, staring. Finally, Merlin sighs and begins stripping off his bangles, setting them carefully down on the table. 

“What are you doing,” Arthur blurts out, his voice higher than he would have liked. 

“What does it look like? I’m preparing to be bedded,” Merlin retorts, sounding peevish. 

“You don’t—” begins Arthur. 

“Yes, I do,” he snaps, ripping at one of the wrist bands, and glaring at Arthur. Arthur stopped short, his insistence dying on his tongue as Merlin glared at him, anger sparking in the depths of his blue eyes. 

“How long,” he asks softly, surprising himself, “how long since the king?” 

“What,” Merlin asks, bewildered. 

“How long since you and the sultan,” repeats Arthur, feeling himself begin to blush hotly. He didn’t even know why he was asking, why he was interested. The question apparently catches Merlin off guard too because the words hang in the air unanswered for several beats as Merlin stares openly at him. 

“You heard him,” Merlin says finally, voice sounding strangled, “it’s been over a year.”

“And before that,” Arthur hears himself ask, “was—was it often?”

“What!” Merlin’s voice had taken on a high panicked quality. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t…often. I suppose. I’m one of hundreds. He doesn’t have time mostly. Even when I first got here, it was only once every two weeks.” Merlin was babbling, but he had stepped away, hugging himself, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. 

“Oh,” Arthur swallowed. “When did you come here?”

“I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and the words feel horribly insufficient. 

Merlin glances up at him through his lashes and apparently sees something in his face, Arthur doesn’t know what, because he continues softly. “Slave traders raided my village. It’s called Ealdor. They took me to a port and sold me to the men who eventually took me here. The Sultan was intrigued with me and bought me. He liked the look of me, I guess. I don’t know why.”

“Where’s Ealdor?”

“In King Cenred’s kingdom, beyond the ridge of Escetir.”

“I can take you back,” Arthur found himself offering. “I’ll just tell the Sultan that you please me well enough and I want to take you with me.” Merlin’s dark head jerked up and he stared at Arthur for a very long time as if he was trying to decide if Arthur was lying to him or not. 

“Would you really,” he asks, sounding very young. 

“Yes,” Arthur answers simply. Suddenly a wide joyful grin spreads across Merlin’s face. He launched himself at Arthur, enveloping him in a hug, and kissed him happily.

Shocked, Arthur stiffens before pushing Merlin away. “You don’t have to. Not if you don’t want—I wouldn’t need that from you.”

“I want to,” Merlin said. “Really,” he added when Arthur look at him skeptically. 

“Thank the gods,” Arthur murmured and kissed him hard.


End file.
